


Fox (Harm Harm Harm)

by Eorendel



Series: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Winter Holiday Gift Exchange 2016 [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Action, Alternative Universe - FBI, BAMF Illya, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Fight Club - Freeform, Fourth of July, Gaby is a badass, Gen, M/M, Multi, Napoleon is a mastermind, Notes and hidden meanings, Organized Crime, Victoria is kind of crazy, What is evil?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eorendel/pseuds/Eorendel
Summary: Original request:fight club au. i probably got inspired somewhere, probably the kinkmeme, but i haven't been able to get the idea out of my head since stumbling across this post on my dash.
Phantoms constructions had randomly been appearing all around the States. The case had been going on for almost a year, there's little to no evidence to point out who's the one behind the illegal fight rings. Illya and Gaby are working on this case but leads seem to be getting more scarce as the time passes. The only consistent things are the cryptic messages of someone who seemingly likes Oscar Wilde.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawkayy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkayy/gifts).



The name _Gateway 0-1-0-4_ engraved in the wall next to a large door in bold letters looked new. And yet tiny cracks were already chipping it away. A half open dark metal door led inside the underground arena. The space was heavily lit by fluorescent lights. The FBI wouldn’t have to use their light equipment; the dry blood could be seen in plain sight. It was spilled all around the round room; on the walls, on the floor, even drops were stuck on the ceiling and the hanging lights. It looked like a carnage but Illya knew better than assume things without facts.

According to the reports, the construction was made illegally approximately four months ago. The old abandoned theatre was a relatively good cover for what these people were doing. The blood could suggest anything from an execution site, to a cultist gathering, and many other things but the difference between this place and the after mentioned was the fact that they went out of their way to build a place – a very nice place –  that could have costed thousands of dollars. They had the means, which meant they were dealing with a complete different kind of situation compared to the usual cases they dealt with.

“Illya, come and see this!” Gaby’s called with her usual nettled tone when she was displeased.

Obligingly, and because this case had been grating at everyone’s nerves for almost a year, Illya went to Gaby’s side. He saw what she saw and a new sparkle of irritation bloomed inside his chest.

 

_Dear FBI,_

_You should give up already. We are almost done. And so are you from what I heard._

_It is a nice day to go to the beach and let go._

_Yours truly, N._

 

“Same handwriting as the others.” Gaby supplied while tapping away in her tablet. “As before, any fingerprint is ineligible to match with anyone in our database. There’s still the blood sample results but I think it’s gonna be the same as with the others.”

Illya stared some more at the message written in blood on one of the walls. Strong bold letters taking space between each letter without being messy. The handwriting was always clear but its messages were always cryptic, if not nonsensical. They tried to analyse the meaning but the results were inconclusive.

The routine procedure happened in the same way that always did, no new clues were found and they headed back to headquarters with mixed feelings. Waverly was already waiting for them in the meeting room. Quietly, the agents took their seats. Gaby and Illya decided to stay standing, both sharing the same restless feeling they had when they couldn’t make any progress with a case.

“Let’s get straight to the point, shall we?” Waverly said amicably, the tone of his voice didn’t match the expression on his face. “We are being pressured to get results and the results have, how should I put it, been tricky to achieve. This is not a rumor, there are some people who are willing to close off this investigation, stuff it under the rug in a blink of an eye. And that blink will last five weeks.”

Murmurs filled the room. The closing of an ongoing investigation due to “low funds” wasn’t unheard of. But, the fact that the investigation itself could be dealing with something much larger than their usual cases and that it could – surely – be closed off was odd.

Illya just thought to himself that probably the people from the CIA were trying to get the case for themselves while taking all the work they have done in one big swoop. He sighed and glanced at Gaby, who to any other would have seen blank faced, to Illya though, that was the face of someone ready to break some bones and some laws if not stopped.

The meeting was adjourned without a clear conclusion.

Illya and Gaby went back to their working stations and did paperwork until it deciding to call it a night.

They didn’t speak to each other when they stood while their steps directed them to the drawing room. Pictures and sticky notes cluttered the white board. More than eleven places with their respective evidence was in display. The patterns of blood varied from picture to picture some of them clearly stated that was the result of a shooting, others seemed as if an explosion had occurred, sometimes bits of brain tissue could be found scattered around but even though the evidence in each place seemed always the same one thing stood out that drew their attention, it was always an even number of blood splats. Always six different blood samples with one exception, on one of four of the eleven places; the same place blood sample appeared.

Whomever had been in the place had survived long enough to be on it again. And again.

It was obviously some sort of fighting place. But it was so secretive, so well planned out that there was no information to link it to anyone. So it must mean it was someone relatively new to this sort of world (or country) and wealthy enough to sponsor it. And that led them to a huge number of possible suspects not only in USA but the whole world which in itself would be troublesome since the CIA would plead to their jurisdiction if that was the case.

Gaby sat in a chair and began to tap away in her tablet while Illya decided to stare at the whiteboard. Among the clutter of evidence the picture of the bloody messages drew his attention. Five cryptic messages that were labelled from one to five, number five being the most recent.

 

**No.1**

 

_Dear FBI,_

_You don’t know me, but I know a lot about you._

_I seldom believe we will ever meet._

_However, in the case you do, aren’t fireworks just the prettiest things in the sky at night?_

_Yours truly, N._

 

**No.2**

 

_Dear FBI,_

_Do you own a boat?_

_Thinking about it, I don’t think your salary could afford it._

_Yours truly, N._

 

**No.3**

 

_Dear FBI,_

_“Hear no evil, speak no evil, and you won't be invited to cocktail parties.”_

_Yours truly, N._

 

**No.4**

 

_Dear FBI,_

_I fear of my thoughts  lately. I wonder in my sleepless nights if I’m genuinely evil._

_I once thought I wasn’t and that I couldn’t, but I’m not so sure anymore._

_I don’t think I can look at the sky or the sea or at you in the same way anymore._

_Yours truly, N._

 

**No.5**

 

_Dear FBI,_

_You should give up already. We are almost done. And so are you from what I heard._

_It is a nice day to go to the beach and let go._

_Yours truly, N._

 

Illya mulled the messages over and over. It wasn’t something they could link to something concrete. It wasn’t a passage from the bible that could lead to their motivations. It wasn’t something repetitive, it plainly seemed to be the thoughts of someone writing the first thing that came to their minds.

It was the thoughts of someone, _a person_ . Illya began to reread the messages again. This person was talking directly to someone – to whomever would be able to _listen_. They were telling something. Illya snatched the pictures from the whiteboard and began to write down words.

The first message told about _fireworks_ and it appeared just a little after the 4th of July. Illya could remember the date because Gaby had attempted to cook when they had finished their shift. She was banned from cooking again.

The second message seemed simply like a jab at their salary as a whole, but the word could have been anything else beside a _boat_. A boat was relatively within the means of an FBI agent, so the word “boat” could mean something different. Furthermore, the third message could be linked to the fourth and the fifth. Cocktails parties were often made in yachts and speaking of the sea it could mean a harbour but the wildest guess Illya was taking from this pieces of random facts was the due date for them to catch the culprits was today.

In big red bold letters on the inconspicuous calendar on the wall it said – **July 4th**

“Gaby,” Illya spoke, voice almost shaking, “I think I know where they are.”

Gaby who had been alert since the moment Illya took the pictures down stared straight at him, “Where?”

“In a yacht somewhere near where the fireworks for today’s celebration can be seen.”

“That gives us quite a lot of spots to look for.” Gaby, pragmatic as usual didn’t question Illya’s logic. After all, they had been partners for a very long time, and she knew of what Illya was capable of.

“And,” Illya said with a grimace, “I think today is the last day they are going to stay in the States.”

Gaby remained quiet. “Well, let’s not waste time. Waverly is still probably in his office.”

She quickly strode back towards the door before Illya could get a word in edgewise. He hurried after her, trying to sort out the thoughts in his head. There was a question that still lingered in the back of his head, was the person who had survived been the one leaving the trail for them to pick up?

It was a wild guess. But then again, everything up until now had been a guessing game.

 

* * *

 

They couldn’t possibly have mobilised a whole squad in less than two hours – it was already dark and mobilising agents off duty was problematic on a tactical level –  but somehow Waverly managed to get enough men to make a sweep of the three main harbours on the coast.

The whole unit was working on the assumption that the yacht they were looking for would be heavily guarded. They divided up in groups and aimed for the largest boats and yachts in the premises. They were working on high stakes if they messed up with the wrong ship, or messed up with the wrong people - it could lead to a lot of troubles for the bureau.

Illya and Gaby led to a small group to the southeast direction of the harbour. On sight, three big yachts were already lit up to the brim with decorations and the national flag standing proudly in the three of them. They stopped their advance. Ahead, very distinctly, three men who didn’t look they belonged with the guests were making rounds on the deck – strolls for the untrained eye.

Illya was debating whether they should take action when a gunshot broke the false facade of peace around the harbour.

From then on they broke formation, people on the yacht spotted them and the only thing they could do was to retaliate and ask for backup. Heavily armed men were pouring out from the three yachts and they clearly could hear the moment the first one of the yachts decided to flee. They couldn’t do anything about it. They were being pushed back. Their line of aim depended on the pier they were on and in the little shelter boats anchored in the harbour provided.

Unexpectedly, enemy fire began on their backs. Three heavy SUVs – probably armoured – poured men that quickly aimed their handguns to them.

Something happened then, instead of holding their ground – as they should have – the men from the SUVs began to advance onto the pier and to the two remaining yachts. It was a mayhem to be in and there was little time to think things through. But the instinct of a good agent was always present and that’s when Illya noticed the formation the men from the SUV were making. They were protecting someone among them. Whoever it was was more valuable than their lives. The men were approaching Illya’s cover – there was no time to think but to act.

Hopefully, the others would see what he attempted to do. And with a bit of luck he would live another day to hear Gaby’s scolding about recklessness.

Illya went out of his cover, shot two men in the general area of their faces while charging full speed towards the compact group. As the two men fell down, he caught a glimpse of the person they were protecting. It was a blond woman, tall, thin and then he couldn’t see more as his body was slammed back by a man. In a split of second he recalled the tackles he used to do in their rugby team when he was younger, and then his back smashed against the deck of one of the boats – indistinctly, Illya could hear the woman shouting a name – but he was too busy fending off the hits of his assaulter to pay attention to the woman’s words.

He managed to stand up but he was quickly brought down by the precise movements of his opponent. They grappled on the ground, trying to overpower each other. They guns had been thrown somewhere on the floor and Illya had lost his helmet with his latest stunt. A powerful right hook to his jaw made him dizzy and it was so heavy Illya’s head dropped to the side giving enough time to his assailant to seize his throat.

Calloused hard cold hands choked his windpipe. Illya struggled, trying to shake off the hands but the more he struggled it seemed that the hands gripped harder. As he was losing consciousness, he saw a flash of the eyes of the man, they were blue and instead of looking triumphant at their obvious win, a veil of worry overshadowed them.

Everything happened in a matter of seconds.

And when Illya’s sight was finally going black the hands around his throat lifted as if burned.

Illya coughed, his chest hurt he was dizzy and sore but he had still the mind not to leave his opponent out of his sight. That’s when Illya saw him reach inside his suit. There was no time to look for his own gun, he was on the floor without means to escape. In an instant, Illya thought to himself, he was going to die.

Instead of a gun, the man pulled out an odd looking key. He reached for his neck and for the first time Illya noticed he was wearing a collar – a thick collar embedded with diamonds. The man’s hands were shaking but the key turned inside the collar opening it. He hurried taking it off with savage desperation. He turned around, giving his back to Illya and then hurled the collar away into the night sky.

A few seconds after, just at it was sailing through the air, the collar exploded in a blaze of crimson.

Illya was stunned and the man hadn’t moved, the gunfire was still happening around them but right there and then the man began to laugh. It was an hysteric laugh, humourless and dark. It was enough to snap Illya into action. Looking around he spotted a gun. It wasn’t his. He stood, summoning back all his strength and pointed the gun at the back of the man’s head.

The man was still laughing, albeit with a little less of insanity.

“Raise your hands and don’t make any sudden movements.” Illya ordered.

The man glanced back over his shoulder slowly, his eyes were glistening, and Illya could notice a crooked smile blooming on his face. Slowly, just as ordered, he lifted his arms.

“Should I turn around?” the man asked, his voice surprisingly steady. His tone, however, bothered Illya, he sounded as if he was indulging Illya. He sounded relaxed, almost relieved.

“Do it slowly.” Illya ordered again, gripping the gun a little bit harder.

The man did so, and somehow the crooked smile turned into a full blown smile. He showed his perfect white teeth, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, he seemed younger; before Illya could pull himself together the man spoke again.

“You have my thanks, dear FBI, if weren’t for you I would already be dead.” he said, smile diminishing a little, “Or at least that was what I was planning on doing if you didn’t show up today.”

Illya frowned and again before he could form a word, the man spoke again.

“It was you who figured out, wasn’t it?” He asked and something must have shown in Illya’s expression because the smile grew a little, “You have my infinite appreciation, Illya.”

“Oh, I know who you are, don’t look so surprised.” He tilted his head to the side. “After all, I was the one who led you here.”

Illya couldn’t say anything at that moment so the man filled it for him.

“My name is Napoleon, by the way.” He smiled the smile that made him look younger, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not so sure if this could be even called a "Fight-Club" au, but there was a hint here and there, hope you like it regardless though!
> 
> Thanks for reading~


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